


For My Brother's Love

by GrahamsLexa



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: But I decided to post it here because, Ford is not dead we know he aint death but, Ford needs help, I love this pair of siblings OKAY, I'm lazy, Not necessary ship but can be interpreted, RP solo kind of?, Take it as ship if you like i'm chill with that, That bitch is hard to kill tbh, a tale of two stans, they both need help
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-28
Updated: 2016-11-28
Packaged: 2018-09-02 22:40:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8686063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrahamsLexa/pseuds/GrahamsLexa
Summary: || I wanted to post this here because I'm too lazy to post it on my roleplay account. Anyway||





	

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning for mentions of abuse

He'd lost notion of time, the world had crumbled under his feet and what was left was nothing but a dark room, cold and the bottle of vodka laying around next to him.  
But he kept writing, hoping that his long lost brother had gotten his letter and would soon come for his cry of help.

It had always been Stanley.  
When the times seemed dark, and he'd lost hope in anything else, it was always Stanley.  
And that made him realise how truly weak he was without him, how much he craved the company of the person he'd failed to the most. 

And so he waited, days, months, years? He wasn't sure.   
But hope returned a morning of winter in the cold of Oregon, when he heard a few knocks on the door.  
Yet, he was unsure.  
Could it be him? Could he feel safe to open the door, greet his brother with a well deserved hug that he'd been keeping just for him?   
Or...  
Or was it /him/? The voice whispering inside his head, the creature that had brought him to the edge of breakdown.   
The being who he had so dearly loved and appreciated for years, and then had turned into his greatest nightmare? 

Anxiety hit him like a train, and suddenly, he was standing up from the mattress on the floor. Clumsily reaching for the crossbow hidden underneath and nearly skilfully loaded an arrow.   
He was afraid.   
Ford managed to put himself together, approach the door ready to shoot an unwished visitor.   
"Stay back!"   
   
The twins stared at each other reluctantly, doubtful.  
Specially with one of them ready to open fire at any time if he felt like it, with a bloody patch covering his right eye underneath his glasses and a band nursing the wound of his head. 

"Well, —the one standing outside chuckled, almost ignoring the weapon against his forehead. — I can always count on you for warm welcomes." 

 

"Stanley.., are you sure you came here alone? Did anyone follow you?" —He'd be lying if he said that there was still a bad feeling on his gut, but having the door open for too long wasn't an option. 

The place was a mess, Stanley could observe.   
There was missing test tubes laying randomly on the floor, ripped pages spread around and a strong smell of alcohol and the unique scent of iron coming from blood spurts on the floor.  
It was beyond worrying to wonder how long Stanford had been in that state. 

"What happened to you? You look like mom after the 7th cup of coffee." —Stan chuckled. It was easy to hope to loosen up the mood, it had always worked when they were barely teenagers and Ford had spent an entire night studying for an important test.  
Not this time, however.   
Stanley studied his brother's face, and he could nearly swear to see tears filling Ford's visible eye. But he turned around soon enough to not really be sure. 

"Stanley, I.." —His words were heavy, forced. Visibly affected by, whatever the next words could be.   
"Hey, Stanford, it's okay.  Let's talk this through, okay?"—For a moment, it felt like they never left each other's side.  
The dynamic duo was together again, and everything felt okay for barely a second. 

Stan's hand, calloused by the hard work of a homeless life, caressed his brother's pale cheek with softness. Wrapping an arm around his shoulders. 

"I need to show you something." —Ford's voice was soft, barely a whisper. For a moment, he almost felt like a child again. Helpless. —"You can show me anything, I will understand." 

There both stood, in front of the Titan that had taken Ford's sleep for almost 10 years. He gulped.  
"What the hell have you been doing, Stanford?"   
"I.." —He wanted to explain everything, but it was too difficult. And he was too tired, he wanted to forget, and merely talking about it was too harsh for him to handle. 

 

"I just need you to make me a favour." —He stuck both hands behind his back, hiding something. —"Remember our plans to sail around the world?"   
There was just a pinch of hope rising, of a late promise finally being fulfilled. Hope that would soon be gone. 

The journal, that insane, and horrifying thing that Ford couldn't be happier of getting rid of. He placed it between his brother's hands carefully.  
"I want you to take this book, get on a boat, and sail as far away as you can. Til the end of the world." 

The hope, that had grown high and full of expectation, soon fell to be just disappointment. And anger, an anger that Stanley had just left the day he left home.   
A deep hit of realization of who Stanford truly was, or how he thought he was, for that matter. 

"That's it?" —He asked, in a sarcastic and wretched voice. —"You haven't seen me in 10 years and you call me just to tell me to get as far away of you as possible?"   
"No, Stanley, that's not what I meant." —There was a sudden turn in the air, from gratitude and love to hatred and anger from both sides. "You don't know what I'm up against, what I've been through!"   
Stan chuckled —"What you've been through? I've been in prison twice, I've traveled outside the country just to be able of buying a can of soup for dinner.  
 I once had to break through the back of a God damn car, you think your life is hard? Imagine being homeless, struggling to make a living while your brother lives it up in his fancy house in the hills, selfishly keeping his college money because he only cares about himself." 

It took him an incredibly huge amount of patience to not breakdown, try to fight up against Stan.   
After all, he couldn't blame him for not knowing something Ford himself didn't try to tell. But it didn't stop him from tightening fist and clenching his jaw.

"I'm selfish? I wasn't the one who left! I wasn't the one who had to screw up once again and break our, already severely damaged, family.  
 I was left to take care of mom, of Shermie and to bear with Filbrick's ass. And don't ever tell me for a second that it wasn't hard, because it was a whole hell to maintain a household you left to crumble and fall." 

"How dare you..." —For a moment, Ford expected to feel his brother's punishing fist against his face. Not that it would matter, at this point, but it didn't happen. — "Fine! You said you want me to have it, I will do whatever I want with it."  
He took out a lighter, letting it brush against the side of the light leather that started to turn brown-ish. 

"You can't!" —In a moment of pure and unrepressed rage, Ford's fist crashed against the other's cheek. Hard enough to cause blood to ooze out of his nose. —"I'm.." —His voice cut.  
"You son of a bitch.." —And just as expected, the favour of blood and a red spot soon to turn blue was reciprocated. 

 

They had never, /actually/ fought fist to fist, not even as kids. But now they were letting it all off, in form of punishing hits and kicks on each other, equal wounds forming on their fair skin.   
Stan managed to pin Ford against the wall, gripping from his coat in a way Ford had just seen him do on bullies in highschool. —"It was supposed to be us, together! You ruined it for both, you ruined my life."   
Another hit and Ford's glasses were knocked off to the floor.   
"You ruined your own life!" —He had managed to stay in line, skipping his brother's fists as much as he could.  
Until Stan lifted his, much thinner brother, up and kicked him to the other side of the room. 

 

He was sure he had broken something, at least, judging by the non-stop pain in his back when he tried to stand up. Weak, but managed to keep a straight position. 

"You care more about your fucking book than your family, then you can have it!" —From the push Stan did to force Ford to hold the journal back, he would have likely fallen down again. If it wasn't for something worse, something terrible.   
Somewhere along the way, they had likely pushed something accidentally. Because he was now being lifted up. Oozing light almost dragged him inside, harshly into the opening inside the triangular portal. 

"Stanley!" — but one he could feel his feet being engulfed by the energy from, whatever the portal lead to, he knew it was too far gone. —"Help me! Stanley!" 

Ford knew it was over, but at least /he/ wouldn't find it. He trusted Stanley to do the right thing, and in an attempt to make sure the creature never got his disgusting paws on that thing, in a swift movement of his wrist, the leather journal was thrown away. 

The portal closed. 

"Stanford!"—It was useless, but Stanley called anyway. With a small bit of hope that, somewhere, Ford could hear. —"I didn't mean it!"   
He gripped tightly of the lever, tried to pull it up and down multiple times in hope to open the portal again.   
But yet, it was hopeless.   
"No, I just got him back, I can't lose him again."

He felt useless, weak.   
And staring at the empty room in the house his brother used to habit, he felt lonely.


End file.
